“The reason I couldn’t picture the future was because I was supposed to go someplace I’d never been before.”
Miriam sat still, trying to digest her sister’s words. How brave Sarah was! she realized. To keep doing what made her afraid, night after night, never being certain she would ever see an outcome, let alone a positive one.
“What finally happened?” she asked quietly. “Did you ever see anything at all?”
Sarah gave another quick laugh, more open and free this time.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s going to sound like pride, but the moment I realized I’d stopped being afraid, the thing I saw was myself. I still couldn’t see my surroundings, but I could see myself, very clearly, and I was walking forward, as if there was a path all laid out for me, as if it had been there all the time. It just took letting go of my fear to see it. I did have a future, but I would have to make it for myself. The only thing I would take from my old life would be . . . me. Not just my body, but also my heart and soul. What I had learned, what I believed. And it seemed to me that I could not have seen or felt these things on my own. God must be guiding me. This was the path He wanted me to walk.”
“But why choose to live among the Englischers?” Miriam asked. “Why go so far away? There are Mennonite communities close by. You could have just gone there.”
But Sarah was already shaking her head.
“No. It had to be someplace totally new.”
“But why?”
“Because of who I am, I think,” Sarah said. She wiped a hand across her face once more, leaving a trace of blue on her cheek this time. “Because I was raised Plain.”
Miriam laughed. “Now you have me more confused than ever.”
“You remember when we were having supper with Daniel’s parents?” Sarah asked. “And I was talking about teaching the young people how to garden? I wish that you could meet some of them, Miriam. At first, they seem so angry. But get to know them just a little and you see the truth: They’re lost. They have no sense of fellowship, not with others, and not within themselves. I sometimes think this is the biggest difference between the Plain folk and the Englischers. We don’t want to be connected to the outside world. But, for all their laptops and cell phones, the Englischers have forgotten how to be connected to one another and to themselves.”
Sarah paused. Miriam gazed at her sister’s face. All the anger and frustration in it was gone. Instead, Sarah’s face was filled with strength and purpose, with a glowing inner light.
“But you should see what happens when these young people see the first shoots come out of the soil!” she went on. “It’s like the whole world opens up. They realize that life has possibilities—that they, themselves, have possibilities—for the very first time. You can almost see the desire for fellowship grow just as quickly as the carrot tops!
“This is what God wants me to do,” Sarah said, her voice ringing with conviction. “He wants me to bring this sense of fellowship to the Englischers, particularly the young people. This is what I believe, Miriam. I believe it with my whole heart.”
“Did Daed know this?” Miriam whispered.
“Yes.” Sarah nodded, and now a shadow crossed her face. “At least, in part. He didn’t know about the job, of course, and for that I will always be sorry. That was pride. I wanted so much to tell Daed in person. I wanted to be able to see the expression on his face when I told of my accomplishments. That was wrong of me. I think I even knew it at the time. But, after I told him I did not wish to be baptized, I did my best to explain why I felt I had to go.”
“But you didn’t tell me,” Miriam said.
Sarah met Miriam’s eyes. In them, Miriam saw the glint of tears. She felt her own eyes fill.
“I wanted to,” Sarah said. “You have no idea how much. But I simply did not know how. Something came between us, Miriam, even before I decided to leave home. There were days when I swore I could almost see you stepping back, stepping away from me, once you had been baptized. It was as if you were trying to put as much distance between the two of us as possible.”
“No,” Miriam protested. “It wasn’t like that at all.”
But it was, she thought. Until Sarah had spoken, Miriam had had absolutely no idea that her sister was considering leaving the Plain life. But she had been sure, so very sure, that Daniel wanted to ask Sarah to become his wife.
I did step back, Miriam realized. Not to hurt her sister, only to put some distance between herself and the pain she was so sure would come. It never had. Not in the form that she’d expected, anyhow. Sarah had gone to live among the Englischers. Daniel had asked Miriam to be his wife. And for all the days between that one and this, Miriam had lived with the pain that came with the belief that she had been her husband’s second choice.
And I can’t tell Sarah any of this, she thought. Not here. Not now. Sarah had just revealed a story full of faith and hope. How could Miriam reveal one of pain and unrequited love? She could not. She would not. But she could do something else.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I never meant to hurt you, Sarah. And I”—Miriam’s breath caught—“I’ve missed you so much! Particularly once we knew how sick Daed was.”
“I should have been here,” Sarah said as the tears began to slide down her cheeks. “I should have been here to help, and I should have been with Daed when he died.”
“He was proud of you,” Miriam said, her own tears spilling over. “He saved every letter you ever sent. He read them over and over. He might not have known about your job, the wonderful work you are doing, but I think he understood, Sarah. In his heart, you had his full support. No matter where you were or how you chose to live, you always had his love.”
“Thank you,” Sarah whispered. “Thank you, Miriam.”
She leaned forward and threw her arms around Miriam’s neck. Fiercely, Miriam returned her sister’s hug. All the pain, the uncertainty about her relationship with Daniel, seemed to fade into the background. How she had misjudged Sarah and her reasons for leaving home! But this, at least, she could repair. She could assure her sister of her love. She gave Sarah one last squeeze, and then let go. The two sisters sat back.
“Oh, no!” Sarah cried. She began to laugh, though the tears continued to slip down her cheeks. “I think I got blackberry juice on you.”
Miriam laughed, too. “Never mind. It will fit right in with what I put there myself.” She got to her feet. “It’s getting late. We should go home.”
Sarah scrambled to her feet, then surveyed her bucket with a mournful expression. “You beat me,” she said. “You have twice as many berries as I do. But then, you had a head start.”
“They’re all going to end up in the same place anyway,” Miriam observed as she and Sarah hefted their buckets and walked to where Miriam had left her second one.
“Spoken like a true Plain woman,” Sarah said with a smile. “Here, let me carry that.” She caught the second bucket by the handle and lifted it up. “What’s for supper? Do we have time to make pies?”
“There’s always time to make pie,” Miriam observed. “And that is spoken like a true Plain woman.”
“It is,” Sarah said. “It is, indeed.”
Obeying an impulse, Miriam slipped her free arm through Sarah’s. Linked together now, the sisters walked arm in arm through the late afternoon sunshine.
Eleven
I know,” Sarah said as they approached the house, “let’s make pies.”
“I thought we settled that,” Miriam answered. “Of course we will make pies.”
“No,” Sarah said with a quick shake of her head. “I mean, let’s do it now, for supper tonight. Let’s each make a pie. And then . . .” Sarah’s face lit up with mischief. “Let’s see if Daniel can tell them apart!”
Do I dare? Miriam wondered. How clearly she could picture in her mind’s eye the scene she hoped
for. Daniel sitting at the table, two seemingly identical slices of pie in front of him. He would regard them with his usual serious, intent expression. He would take a bite of one piece of pie and then the other, savoring each, chewing slowly. Perhaps he would even close his eyes to better experience the flavors that filled his mouth. Then he would take one more bite, just for good measure.
“This one is yours, Miriam,” he would say, gesturing to the correct pie. “I would know it anywhere.” And then he would smile, and Miriam would feel her heart soar. “I would know it anywhere because I love you. Because you are my wife.”
“Miriam.” Sarah’s voice cut across Miriam’s daydream. “Where did you go?”
“To the kitchen,” Miriam answered with a quick laugh, though she did not explain more.
“Is that a yes to the pie contest?” Sarah asked.
Miriam nodded. “Definitely. Yes.”
* * *
Back at the house, Miriam and Sarah worked quickly and efficiently, effortlessly falling back into the rhythms that had filled their childhood. Miriam measured dry ingredients for crust into two bowls while Sarah gently rinsed the berries, setting them in a colander to drain away the excess water. Then the sisters stood side by side, making their crusts. They let the pie dough rest for a few minutes while they measured out their berries and added sugar and spices. Sarah had a heavier hand with the cinnamon, Miriam noted.
Then they let the berries sit to let the thickening begin while they rolled out the pie crusts. Finally, each sister gently scooped the berries into her shell and settled the upper crust on top.
“I forgot how much I like pie making,” Sarah observed as she crimped the edges, sealing the top and bottom crusts together and giving the pie a festive look all at the same time.
“I like it, too,” Miriam agreed. The dry feel of the flour on her hands, the scents of ripe fruit and spices. “How many vents do you want to cut?”
“Five,” Sarah answered at once. “I always think an odd number looks better, don’t you?”
“I do,” Miriam agreed.
Using just the tip of a sharp knife, she made five short incisions in the top crust of her pie, to let the air escape so the top crust wouldn’t puff up. When the juices began to bubble through the vents, Miriam would know that the pie was done. She handed the knife to Sarah. Frowning a little in concentration, Sarah placed five similar cuts on her pie top.
“There!” she said. The sisters stood back, admiring their handiwork. The two pies really did look identical. “Not bad!” She giggled. “I can’t wait to see the look on Daniel’s face.”
“I’ll just pop them in the oven,” Miriam said. She placed the two pies on a large cookie sheet so that no juice would drip onto the oven floor.
“I’m so sticky!” Sarah exclaimed. “Do you want help washing up?”
“No, that’s okay,” Miriam answered. “You go on and get cleaned up. I’ll get supper started and get these bowls washed up.”
“Thanks,” Sarah said. She put an arm around Miriam’s shoulders and gave a quick squeeze. “That was fun.”
“It was fun,” Miriam admitted. Sarah turned and headed toward the door that led to the rest of the house. “Sarah.”
Sarah stopped and turned around. “What?”
“I’m glad that you are home.”
“I’m happy, too,” Sarah said. “See you in a few minutes. Leave something for me to do, now. Even if it’s just setting the table.”
“Oh, you can always do that,” Miriam said. Setting the table had always been Miriam’s least favorite job.
Sarah was laughing as she sprinted through the door. Miriam could hear her sister’s footsteps thundering up the stairs. She smiled. How many times had Daed asked Sarah not to take the stairs at a dead run? she wondered. So many there was no way to count them all. Sarah had managed to slow down for a time or two, but somehow, she’d always ended up running once more. It seemed she had always been going somewhere, even as a child.
Miriam put the bowls, sticky with their residue of sugar and berry juices, in the sink, then quickly began to wash them. She was sticky as well, and still sweaty from the berry picking. She, too, would need washing. Miriam stopped, one hand still in the dishwater, as inspiration struck. Then she was moving before she could change her mind. Through the kitchen door and out into the yard. As she often did when she worked in the house, Miriam had kicked her shoes off the moment she came indoors. The lush grass was cool and soft beneath her feet as she made her way to the pump in the yard.
Miriam worked the handle quickly to create a good, steady flow. Then she released the pump handle and thrust both hands into the water, gasping at how cold it was. But it felt so good! No amount of water would wash away the berry stains, not yet anyhow. But the water flowed over Miriam’s tired hands, making them tingle. She splashed some water upward, onto her face, and laughed aloud.
Do I dare? she wondered, then answered her own question by pumping the handle, hard, once more. Water gushed from the spout. Pulling in a deep breath, Miriam did what she had so often seen Daniel do at the end of a hot day: She thrust her face directly beneath the flow.
Miriam sputtered as the cold water streamed across her face. Daniel had a definite advantage, she realized. He only had to try to keep the front of his shirt dry. Miriam had the front of her dress and her kapp as well. She pulled back and shook her head. Just like a dog, she thought. Then she laughed aloud.
“You can never tease me about doing that again, you know.”
Miriam straightened up with a start. She had been so caught up in what she was doing that she had not heard Daniel approach. He stood now, on the far side of the pump, a grin on his face and a very definite twinkle in his bright blue eyes. With a suddenness that had her head spinning, Miriam felt her heart soar. How long had it been since Daniel had looked at her with such an expression of open joy? She genuinely did not know. But how much she wanted to keep it there, that Miriam knew very well.
Her hand was moving almost of its own volition, before Miriam was conscious of making a decision to act at all. It was scooping down into the water trough, and then back up, sending a great arc of water whooshing in Daniel’s direction, striking him full in the chest, darkening his shirt front. Daniel gave an exclamation of astonishment. And then incredibly, wonderfully, he was laughing. A great, full-throated laugh that rang out across the yard.
“I hope you don’t expect to get away with that,” he said. He took a step forward. Miriam skittered back, keeping the water trough between them.
“Race you back to the house.”
She turned to go, but almost before she finished pivoting, Daniel was at her side. Reaching out to seize her by the hand.
“No, let’s go together,” he said.
“Let’s,” Miriam agreed, her heart so full she thought it just might burst with joy.
Hand in hand, they raced across the yard.
* * *
Miriam didn’t think she could ever remember a supper like the one they shared that night. The joyous mood continued throughout the meal, catching Sarah up in it the moment she came downstairs. It was as if all three of them had stepped into the sunshine, Miriam thought, bursting through after weeks of standing beneath dark clouds.
“Ach, Sarah, surely you must have another slice of bread,” Daniel said after he had helped himself to the green beans. “Is it not good enough to eat two slices?”
Sarah laughed at the suggestion. “I’ve already eaten three, and I’ve had two helpings of the potato salad, so please don’t urge me to eat a third.” She looked at her brother-in-law and shook her head. “In the Englischer world, you could simply tell your wife that her cooking is delicious.”
“Doesn’t that lead to pride?” Miriam said at once.
“Maybe,” Sarah said. “But it’s also a more . . . direct way of telling someone that you enjoy the
food she’s cooked for you. Is there anything so terrible in that?”
“No,” Daniel answered. He looked straight at Miriam. “I do enjoy it,” he said. “I’m lucky to have a wife who cooks such food.”
Miriam felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair beneath her kapp. “Thank you, Daniel,” she said. “I am glad my cooking pleases you.” It was a small thing, but Daniel’s words had filled her heart with joy.
“And how is the work in the fields coming?” she asked him, realizing that ever since her daed had died, she had shown very little interest in her husband’s work. If there had been distance between them, she was at least partly to blame.
“Good,” he said, seeming pleased that she had asked. “We have more corn this summer than we’ve had in years. It will be a bountiful harvest.”
When the meal was over, it was Sarah who got up to clear the table while Miriam put on a pot of coffee. While it brewed, Miriam got out dessert plates and, finally, the pies.
“I thought I smelled pie,” Daniel said as Miriam and Sarah each carried a pie to the table and set them in front of him. He gazed at them, his expression slightly bemused. “But I don’t think even I can eat two.”
“You don’t have to eat all of them,” Sarah said, her voice teasing. “Just a couple of bites of each one.”
Daniel raised his eyes to Sarah’s face. “You’re going to cut both pies at once? But why?”
“It’s a game,” Sarah explained. “Or maybe a quiz. I don’t know. I baked one pie and Miriam baked the other.”
Daniel’s gaze shifted to Miriam, a faint frown snaking down between his brows. Miriam felt a fine tingling start in the pit of her stomach.
“More pie is always a blessing,” Daniel said carefully. “But I’m still not certain that I understand.”
Summer Promise Page 13
